


Was I Not Good Enough?

by Sleepless_Girl



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: ... kinda, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Minor Barry Allen/Hal Jordan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 01:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Girl/pseuds/Sleepless_Girl
Summary: Kyle knew they wished he was someone else.





	1. My Light May Never Fill His Shoes

Kyle knew.

He would pretend he didn’t have a single clue about it. Or brush it off when needed. 

The Justice League of America - if he wants to be formal - wasn’t the best at hiding things. It surprises him they have kept their identities a secret for this long. I mean, Superman’s “cover” is just a simple pair of black-rimmed glasses. Hideous ones at that. Not that he could be the one to judge on fashion, he’ll rather leave that to the professionals. Kyle really doesn’t like to think _too_ deeply into the whole Superman slash Clark thing. He’s sure people have already tried to find the logic behind all of that. 

It was okay… or so he tried to reassure himself. But he wasn’t the greatest at that. The first time it had happened he had easily - foolishly - brushed it off. Convinced himself it had just been the case of missing their teammate. Yet, as the months ticked by, he couldn’t stop his muscles from cringing whenever Superman confused his name. Placing an “H” in front of a “K”. 

_‘Hey, Ha - Kyle. Can you help me with this?’_ The older hero would ask. 

And, as Kyle stared at the blue-clad hero, he would see a dust of pink - 342 - decorate his beige cheeks. How his dark eyebrows went downwards a bit while his lips gave a timid smile. Along with the way floating feet shifted in the air from side to side made his emotions clear. Embarrassed. Truth be told, Kyle expected to be the one flustered… not the cause. The young man had only seen the Man of Steel become flustered under the words of Batman when this one pointed out something rather stupid the hero had done. 

He would then let out a smile. For it was the usual. His routine. One that contradicted the pain that caused his lips to quaver and heart to ache. 

_‘Sure.’_

This whole situation shouldn’t bother him. He was a Green Lantern for crying out loud! He should be worried about more relevant matter. For example, the unknown future of the universe. Or finishing the painting awaiting in his apartment that will pay for said apartment. Kyle should be nervous about that. Chewing his nails. Still, like every damn thing in his life, he couldn’t brush it off his shoulder. It made the situation even worse that it wasn’t _just_ Superman confusing his name. The black-haired male is sure he could have dealt with simply one person getting his name wrong. Sadly, life always gave him a bundle in the misery department. 

He saw it. 

When Barry Allen - better known as Flash - talked to him. The guy was nice. Friendly and funny, making everyone love him. Flash’s eyes would always gaze all around the room when they talked. Something Kyle knew Barry did naturally and not as an action that one should take offense from. That guy’s brain was always buzzing, even in mid-conversation. For Kyle it had become an endearing quirk on his new friend. Somewhere along the lines of conversation, the speedster would stare at Kyle. His blue irises - 487 with light streaks of 481 - looked rather distant as they would do so. As if his body was there but mind wasn’t. It was strange the times it started to happen; it looked as if he was in some bizarre trance. Half of the time he would worry about this strange habit. Internally battling with himself if he should tell the rest of the JLA about it or keep his mouth shut. 

When moments like these occurred Kyle would snap his fingers in front of the hero. This one would then proceed to immediately stutter while becoming a beet red - one that competed with the vibrant 363 of his suit, which differed from Superman’s 346 cape. Even though the other man was older than him, it strangely reminded him of a high school boy who the teacher caught not paying attention to the lesson. _‘I’m sorry’_ would be accompanied by more apologies and ridiculous fast blabbering. So fast that he sometimes thought Flash should consider the option of becoming a rapper as a retirement plan. And the image of the Flash with gold chains hanging on his neck while teeth glimmered always made him laugh. Which would in exchange make Barry laugh, it was once again routine. Their routine. 

That was until a few days ago. 

Barry had invited him over to his apartment - a break in their usual routine which was absolutely ok with him - to just hang outside of the masks. How eagerly he had agreed to do so. Smiling at the blond and nodding his head like one of those stupid bobble heads people had sitting at their desks. It was all going all right; Barry and him had been sitting on the couch with a beer in their hands as they laughed and told stories. Then the beer seemed to have finally caught up with his bladder and he had to excuse himself to the bathroom. An important thing to note is that Kyle had brought his ring with him. He always did. It was something childish that made him, for a strange reason, always feel important. That he mattered, in a way. 

He had left his ring on the coffee table that Barry had. Laid it there with a soft clink before pacing towards the bathroom. An interesting fact about a Green Lantern’s ring is that they record everything audibly. Every sigh, every laugh. They stored all of it. He was sure they did it as a safety protocol and could only be accessed by either the bearer or The Guardians. 

An equally interesting fact is that Kyle _also_ had the childish habit to listen to everything from that day before he went to sleep. A strange ritual for him. Some may say the replay of sounds before he got cradled by the arms of Morpheus was his own white noise. So, there he had been. Lying on his bed with half of the sheets sprawled around him, an arm covering his eyes as the ring replayed everything. Kyle had been almost asleep. Drool had already started to drip out the corner of his lips when he had heard it. 

_‘I miss you, Hal.’_

The sentence had made him spring upwards, staring at the darkness ahead of him before asking his ring to replay the last sentence. 

_‘I miss you, Hal.’_

By the strange buzz that had followed the sentence, he knew that Barry had probably picked the ring up from the table. Stared at that logo carved in green. 

_‘I wish - I - I wish you were here. So many things we left unfinished, Hal. Left unsaid,’ a breathy chuckle, ‘... I lo - ’_

The sound of the bathroom door opening made the sound of fumbling and soft tink an understandable reaction. 

Replay. 

How had he not noticed that the ring had been placed in a different spot than he had left it? Was he that gullible?

Not surprising was the matter that he had lost count of how many times he had asked his ring to replay that scene over and over. All that he knew was that somehow the moonlight that filtered through his blinds had become sun rays, and that the sound of chatter and honking below him was clear. He didn’t even know how he had managed to shower and dress himself. That whole day had been a blur. Even when the ring had stopped repeating the sentence, it still replayed in his mind. Not lost in translation was the relationship Flash and the other Green Lantern had. Or would have wanted to have. 

When he had gone up to the Watchtower Flash had greeted him with a bright smile - completely and utterly 102. 

Kyle had had the sudden urge to scream at him. 

_Liar, liar, pants on fire! Hanging on a telephone wire._

Ask him if the only reason he had even considered being friends with him, was because every time he looked at the symbol on his chest he imagined someone completely different. Were they even friends? 

Slowly, he started to realize the look of yearning on everyone else. How Wonder Woman would stare at the jasper creations he would construct during battles. How she would let her mouth go into a tight small pout before letting out a war cry, attacking whatever monster they had to fight that morning, afternoon, or fucking week. He wonders if she thinks back to all those crazy inventions Hal would come up with. Which he would always make work. 

A broom stick when battling a swordsman. 

An ice cream truck to capture a villain. 

Yo-Yos tripping some flimsy bank robber. 

He had seen how the old Lantern had used these objects thanks to the Justice League’s files. Ones that held videos of all the heroes, along with basic information. He also had seen a new folder. One which had his name etched on the bottom of it. 

Kyle Rayner. 

He has mixed feelings about that.

Honestly, Kyle had thought this would be a cool experience. Wanted to be part of the most respected team of superheroes - craved to please. But… now that he’s _here,_ it felt as if his golden dream was really made of bronze. He came here wanting to make a name for himself; not to linger in the shadow of the previous Green Lantern. At times, Martian Manhunter would tell stories about said man. Staring at him with far to knowing ruby eyes while tilting his head. The alien would tell him of the infamous arguments that GL and Batman would get into. 

_‘It was as if one was trying to mix oil and water,’_ the Martian had recalled with something akin to glee flashing through his eyes. 

The fights - as he was told - would come to such ridiculous extents that at a point both senior members had to be kept away from one another. Which, pathetically enough, made Kyle feel the slightest bit better about himself. For Kyle held no such conflicts with The Bat. Then again, they rarely interacted with one another. This didn’t bother him though. Okay, maybe a _little_ \- perhaps just maybe, he wished for the other to speak to him more. However, it was also true that whenever the older hero would speak to him - even if it was in the simple form of telling him about a new mission - he would feel his inside do funny things. Feel as his guts become the very Gordian knot that Alexander the Great had encountered, and tongue weigh heavy as lead. How he wished… but Batman rarely spoke with anybody besides Superman. 

Worst of all, he had concluded, was the fact that the team didn’t realize it. They lived in the presumption that he was stupid enough not to notice their behaviors. And he can’t really blame them for thinking so… knew for a fact that he sometimes acted so immature he could potentially be compared to a toddler. Didn’t help that he was as emotionally vulnerable as one. 

Maybe that’s why he was currently in the Watchtower at two forty in the morning carrying a bottle of booze in his right hand. He quite liked the view from here. The glass structure gave you a clear view of Earth. A marble of blue and green swirls. Plus, he didn’t think it was a bright idea to fly while drunk. 

He may not think to highly of himself, but he didn’t want to die. 

Continuing to stare at Earth, he found that the clouds swirling on the top of the planet reminded him of whipped cream on an ice-cream waffle. Specifically, the one he would get with his friends right after school was over. It was something they had done to greet summer. One of the better routines Kyle had found himself in.

Pressing his lips against the rim of the bottle he took a swing. A sigh made him close his eyes which burned with something close to the sensation of being pepper sprayed. A sensation which still haunted him. 

Laughing at loony teenage memories he barely registered the hollow echoes. It wasn’t until he was wiping tears off his face and trying to straighten up from laughter did he hear the echoes. 

Footsteps. Footsteps which were coming towards him.

Royally fucked. That’s all that came to mind.


	2. So I’ll Let Your Darkness Fill My Heart

“Rayner, why are you here?” The voice that had asked him was low and alluring. 

“I could ask yoouuu the same thing,” Kyle grinned sloppily. 

The Bat - no, Bruce Wayne, had then lifted an eyebrow. Eyes trailing at him up and down with a calculating feel. This made Kyle suppress a shiver that climbed up his spine. 

“I came to investigate what someone was doing at,” the dark-haired man stared down at the watch clasped around his wrist, “three in the morning. I offered to go investigate since the rest of the League was sleeping.”

He couldn’t, for the will in him, help but let out a small chuckle. There was something hilarious in the fact that while the rest of the Justice League - people with superpowers - were sleeping, the only human in the team with no powers was wide awake and working. His eyes gleamed with something like drunkenness and high spirits. 

“Why would they send _you?”_ Kyle asked, and, if it wasn’t for the fact he was drunk off his ass, he was sure he would have died of embarrassment. Only after a while did his slug-like brain finally catch up with the words thrown out his mouth. 

“I mean - I didn’t… fuck me,” he let his shoulders sag before taking another sip from the bottle. Swiping his tongue across his lips he looked back at the other. The button-up shirt this one wore had the collar popped in a fashion that suggested a busy life. On anyone else, the action might have been seen as douchey, but on Bruce it looked right. Kyle could still not believe that Batman was Bruce Wayne. Never mind that Batman had trusted him enough to reveal his secret identity. This made a certain giddiness run pass him until it settled on his cheeks. 

He continued to gaze at Bruce, taking in the broad shoulders and the sharp jaw. The reveal of skin thanks to the unbuttoned collar made him want to come closer. So he did. No second though. 

His feet dragged him towards this man made of marble and black azeztulite. Unconsciously, he noted that his hand had come up. Watched with both awe and terror as this one landed right on Bruce’s chest. Underneath it he could feel the steady _thumpthumpthump_ of Wayne’s heart along with body heat seeping out of the skin into his palm. Sense the muscles that were coiled and ready to attack at any minute. 

The world held its breath. 

All he could do was be at the mercy of this body. Hear as his own heart dribbled with vigor as blood rushed towards the south. Making him swallow a thick portion of saliva. 

Kyle was no stranger to emotions. He wore his heart on his sleeve after all. A hopeless romantic who watched too many sappy movies about love and couples. Which sometimes - all the time - made him look around at his empty apartment while taking another spoonful of nutella in his mouth. Normally he knew people would eat ice cream in moments like these, but that would mean he would have to open his freezer and… yeah. 

It was tragic, to be honest with himself, to fall for one of his coworkers. 

Again.

He knew it… the moment Batman had smirked at him during that alien invasion at one of Kyle’s first fights alongside the League. The aliens had carried large fangs and multiple eyes. Not to mention the horrible sounds they would produce. Sounds that could only be compared to white static mixed with creaky floorboards. These creatures had surrounded both Batman and him. Their backs against one another as they got ready to fight, and then he had done it. Turned to him and gave him this _damn_ smirk. A smirk stained crimson at the teeth alongside a busted bottom lip. 

_‘Show them what you’re made of, Rayner.’_

At the time, it had filled him with a pride that Batman didn’t confuse him with a certain brunette. That the stubborn man had acknowledged him. But then that pride had turned into something else, something sickly sweet. He didn’t know if it was because he was the first member to have recognized him for him - or because of his daddy issues showing - but Kyle had quickly become attracted to The Dark Knight. The fact of him being the playboy Bruce Wayne did nothing to help the matter. 

He _still_ blushed at the thought of the Gotham magazines he had hidden under his mattress along with a bottle of lube. 

That single thought made him come back to his senses and realize were and with whom he was with. His palm was still pressed against Bruce, while the other raven-haired man was staring at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

Kyle cleared his throat before looking at Bruce. He saw as Bruce raised his arm and took the nearly empty bottle away from him. Prompting him to step away, taking his invasive hand with him. 

“What I meant to say earlier,” he started, “is why would the League send you, _Bruce Wayne,_ to investigate something?” 

Bruce still looked on with confusion at his earlier action, but then merely shook his head. 

“I knew that whoever was here had to be stupid enough to think the League wouldn’t notice someone potentially breaking in. Brave, but stupid,” Batman placed the bottle on the floor, “That or it had to be another Leaguer. Plus, I saw the cameras.” 

“Oh… yeah, cameras are a thing. Mhm, cameras. Good for recording shit, like family events and criminal activities and por-”

“Now, I think it’s only fair you explain to me why you are currently here.”

“Jus’ thinking,” he spoke with a slight slur. 

“You’re speaking is begging to differ,” the other pointed out. 

“I’m not drunk!” The Green Lantern flailed his arms.

“Never said you were.”

“Well… you’re assuming it.” 

Kyle gripped the faded fabric of his old jeans, clenching and unclenching in a specific sequence to calm his nerves. He wished there was paintbrushes in his hands. Wished for a blank canvas and shades of paints. Oil? Acrylic? No water paint. 

He craved to see the way you could get different tones by just the press of the brush. Wanted to see the way colors could mix. 

Earth. 

He wanted to paint Earth. Smear paint over his hands until he eventually forgot. Sometime after, he then would scratch at his face seconds later to remember the liquid coating his fingers. Itched for his “painting outfit” - one which comprised of an old high school shirt and even older baggy jeans - to drape his frame. 

Too tight. Too tight were these jeans he was wearing. Too clean was this shirt which had a shitty “inspirational” quote on it.

Everything was too much. 

“Rayner.”

Would his painting be better in landscape or portrait? Maybe he should get a third-party opinion on that?

“Kyle.” More urgent. Hints of worry edged around the corners. 

Small or big canvas? Did it even matter? It wouldn’t change the fact he couldn’t pai - 

Before he questioned himself further, hands laid on his shoulders. They felt warm and big, making his small shoulders feel as if they were being encased. A sort of armor. Blinking he shook his head. 

Ah, he was thinking again. Which was the exact opposite of what was supposed to happen. Peeking upwards he finds blue eyes analyzing him. A base of 498 maybe with some flecks of 488 at the edges of the iris. They analyze him in a certain way that makes him feel like throwing up. It hits him that he feels too exposed. 

Fuck. He’s standing - like a complete and utter fool - in front of one of the core founders of the JLA. Drunk. 

He’s a mess.

“Yes, you are.”

The Lantern is sure he looks cartoonish as his eyes widen. He’s even more sure that if this was a sitcom, this would be the moment where the camera would zoom in on his face while a laugh track played.

Laugh tracks always irked him. Since they were recorded ages ago, he’s sure those are the laughter of some dead people; and death always gave him major… bad vibes.

“Shit, did I - did I say that out loud? I’m not going to get fired, am I? Can there even be such a thing? In Oa - ” 

“Rayner.”

“Yess?”

“You’re not making it much better.” 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just - I… Bruce?”

Taking a deep breath, which caused a small hic to leave his mouth, he stared at the floor. Catching his scuffed white converse - really, a terrible choice of color for his always messy life - and a pair of sleek rich people's shoes that probably had a French name attached to it. Inhaling once again, he gripped more at his jeans before speaking. 

“How d’ya know if you’re doing the symbol,” he runs a finger through the small bump on his pocket, “justice?” 

For a second he thinks Bruce has completely ignored him and is already planning on ways to fire him. Or worse, is assessing his personality and picking him apart like some broken toy. 

But then the voice speaks. 

“You don’t. That decision is for those around you to take.”

He frowns. “How do you know if _they_ \- ” 

“You don’t.”

An understatement it would be to say he felt hopeless. Hanging his head he sighs. 

“But Rayner, if it matters, the League thinks you’re doing an excellent job. Knows you’re giving it your all. Most importantly _they,”_ cobalt eyes stare behind him towards the spherical planet, “trust you and admire you.”

The young California born man could feel the way his breath caught in his throat at how Batman’s tone had changed. Changed in a way that reminds Kyle of an old ballad and dark chocolate. And briefly, a thought as quick as the flaps of a hummingbird’s wing, he wonders if Bruce would be the type to serenade those he loves. Breaths out the thought of a disheveled Bruce Wayne - a disheveled _Batman_ \- leaning naked on a rail in an unknown hotel of Paris. All this as night blankets the once bright sky. 

Kyle was never one to take compliments well, always fumbling and blushing his way through a thank you in return. Tonight was no exception. Truly grateful was he for facing downwards. Inky locks block the bright blotches of crimson that in a rapid pace overtook his skin. Forcing his neck to corporate he looks on at Bruce through straight - ha, straight! - lashes and heavy eyelids. 

Follows the soft curve of his nose down to the pink - 356 - upper lip which was thinner than its counterpart. An observation that makes him bite his lip. Running his tongue through his cheeks, he tastes the sour notes of cheap vodka. 

Liquid courage, is it not?

“I’m going to regret this, buuuutt… it isn’t like I don’t already regret my life. So I’ll take mah chances.”

Lifting himself up on his toes he manages to - gracelessly - throw his arms around the clothed neck. Felt stubble covered upper lip open in a voiceless gasp giving him the opportunity to taste. There was a distinct taste of spicy cinnamon that scorched his already sensitive tongue, yet it was the aftertaste of vanilla that made him lean forward. A sweetness which hid under coats of a sharp taste. 

Sadly, Bruce’s hands soon untangled his arms. Separating both lips as a single line of saliva showed that there had ever been a connection, before this one also broke off. 

Huffing his cheeks he let out a mumble of protests. 

Concerned eyes met his before they disappeared under the waves of black locks that swayed from right to left. Deft fingers rubbed at temples before ultimately dropping. 

“I’m taking you home, Rayner. Can you walk?”

Raising his eyebrows he laughed, “Of course I can walk Bruce. I have legs!”

“I’m not afraid _if_ you have legs. I’m concerned if you can _use_ them.”

“Hmmm, I’ll try for you. An’ call be Kyle. You sound uptight when you say ‘Rayner’. Like some angry ol’ dude.”

He swore he saw the hint of a smile when he said that, but it could have just been the blurriness that was quickly overtaking his vision. 

“Okay… Kyle.”

Beaming, he let the Gothamite lead him. Before he knew what was happening, he was inside a jet. If it wasn’t for his less than sober state, he would have been admiring the hand-stitched leather seats. Or the Dalbergia wood tables that held even more expensive electronics. 

He carefully lowered his noodle like body onto a seat. A care that caused Kyle to feel butterflies in his stomach. Or maybe that was a warning sign he was about to vomit?

“Are you feeling alright, Kyle?”

He wanted to desperately laugh. Wanted to say that _no,_ it wasn’t all o-fucking-k. Everything was wrong. Still, there was no strength in his jaw to open it. 

“Mm hmm.”

Then he started to wrap his clumsy arms around himself. Leaning his head against the cool window of the jet, which made his starting headache slightly cool down, he decided that maybe he’s not all right. But at the moment, he felt better. 

Before he could take another dive into the deep waters of his consciousness, he felt something gently placed upon his figure. It was Bruce’s jacket, which he had loosely put on him. Not to mention that he also now had his seat belt buckled. 

“I’m going to go drive the jet. Are you going to be alright if I leave you alone?”

Kyle just grinned at the vigilante before nodding. This one squeezed at his shoulder before retiring towards the pilot’s cabin. He felt the slight rumble of the jet as this one started to depart. He snuggled into the navy blue mac jacket. Smelling the scent of sandalwood, amber, and bittersweet citrus. Somehow, the smell made him feel safe. He wondered if this was why people trusted Batman so much. Questioned if Bruce just always carried an aura that felt like being wrapped in a sheet after this one came out of the dryer. 

The Lantern leeches onto the dark abyss of space outside his window. Wanting it to suck him in and make him disappear among the stardust and meteors. Yet, somehow, the jacket around his shoulders grounds his feet. His mom always did tell him that his head was in the clouds.

Soon, his eyelids started to drop. The cozy scent and warmth around him made him feel…

Sleepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my story, I hope you enjoyed it!  
On a side note, the line: "Turned to him and gave him this _damn_ smirk." 
> 
> Always reminds me of [this](https://images.app.goo.gl/V4Hwq4ybBCuCAZDU7) meme. Ha.


End file.
